


The Schooling of Finnick Odair

by skyegazer8



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Hunger Games, Hunger Games Tributes, Lots of it, M/M, Mental Anguish, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tutoring, Underage Sex, Victors, at the beginning, basically how the infamous finnick odair earned his reputation, eventually not underage, in sex and seduction and manipulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5319350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyegazer8/pseuds/skyegazer8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finnick Odair just won the 65th Hunger Games. He charmed himself into the hearts of the Capitol's citizens, and he numbly murdered his fellow tributes. Now, all he wants to do is go home, back to his Annie. Oh, how naive he was. Of course, the Capitol has other plans for him. Fortunately, (or unfortunately depending on how you look at it) the richest woman in Panem takes him under her wing. This woman, with her outrageous claims about who she is, has an agenda for him as well. The difference between hers and the Capitol's is she gives him a choice.</p>
<p>*Or basically where Finnick is taught the arts of sex, seduction, and manipulation.</p>
<p>**how he becomes who he is in the Hunger Games Series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At the beginning, it is underage since Finnick was only fourteen when he won his Hunger Games. This fic will continue until the 74th Hunger Games, so he will eventually become of age. And of course elements of rape/non-con, considering he is underage, and was practically forced into prostitution.

"When will I get to go home, Mags?" Finnick croaked

Mags's eyes were full of unshed tears. She patted him on the face, smiling sadly as she shook her head. Either she didn't know or she wasn't telling him. Not that she actually could, being a mute.

Tears flowed hotly down his face. He was so tired. Mentally and physically. He was trying so hard to keep the guilt at bay, to keep the images of those other children being slaughtered by his hand away. While he was awake, it was barely possible, and it exhausted him. While he was asleep, he had no such luck, and he woke to their screams.

Mags stroked his hair, humming an old district 4 lullaby. He clutched at her, and she wrapped her arms around him, rocking him back and forth.

He just wanted to go home. He played his part, and now he wanted to be done with it. More than anything, he wanted to be back with Annie.

At the thought of her, he sobbed harder. How was he ever going to face her again, after all the horrible things he had done. Would she understand it was all to survive? Or would she think him a mindless killer? He certainly wouldn't blame her if it was the latter. There were times when he believed it about himself.

They sat there for God knows how long, Mags trying to calm him. He didn't want to fall asleep. But there was that exhaustion again, pulling him down, down, into the dark, until he was trapped in his nightmares.

***

Finnick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hated these clothes the Capitol provided. They were too soft and fitted, and he longed for the loose scratchiness of his district's clothes. He tugged at his collar as he looked around President Snow's office. The opulence of the room was overwhelming, it very telling in the state of affairs here. No where in district 4 was this nice, not even the Justice Building could compare.

He glanced at the ornate clock. He had only been waiting for five minutes, but it felt like eternity. Practically clawing to get out of his skin, he tapped his foot nervously and impatiently.

They hadn't said why the President wanted a private word with him. The Victor's ceremony already happened, and Snow had congratulated him there, so he couldn't imagine that was what this was about. He didn't think he did anything to piss him off...he didn't did he?

His blood ran cold at the thought. He had heard countless stories of what happened to people who angered the Capitol.

Before he could ran out of the office, all the way back to district 4, back to Annie, the door opened.

President Snow strode in, someone closing the door behind him, and took a seat behind his desk.

"Hello Finnick. I must congratulate once again on your victory. You were simply spectacular." There was a small smile on his face, but it held no warmth. None at all.

Finnick could barely choke out a 'Thank you,' with the massive lump that had formed in his throat.

"I bet you're wondering why you are here. Yes, we'll get to that. First, would you like anything? Something to drink or eat?" He interlaced his fingers, tucking them underneath his chin.

Finnick shook his head.

"If you are certain. As you are aware, as Victor you get certain privileges: you get your own house in District 4's Victor's Village, mentor your district's tributes, your own generous yearly food stipend, and practically unlimited access to the Capitol's high society. It is redundant to say that many would kill for this, especially since you have. Another privilege is there are many who would pay enormous amounts of money for the...pleasure of your company." Snow paused, tilting his head, studying Finnick.

"I-I don't understand, sir..." A heavy feeling settled in the bottom of his stomach. Finnick wasn't quite sure what Snow was getting at, but whatever it was left him feeling sick.

"Mr. Odair, you have ensnared many hearts in the Capitol. You are charming, handsome, and above all, you are a Victor. There are many people, who are generous donors to the Games might I add, that want for your time. It would be in your best interest to give them it." The president's eyes shone like those diamonds he saw a Capitol woman wearing. They sparkled with a cold hardness that left him even more nauseous.

Finnick said nothing as he looked down at his lap. He fiddled with his fingers, wishing he had a length of string to tie and untie into knots.

"Before you even won, citizens had approached me, making all kinds of offers for you. You'll be pleased to know that I held out until I received the absolute best one for you."

He was beginning to work out what exactly it was President Snow was saying, and he really was going to be sick.

Snow reached over to the com on his desk. "Please send in Madame de Lune."

The door opened again, and Finnick looked up startled, his heart pounding. A woman glided through the doorway. She was clad in a tight midnight black dress that covered everything except her hands and face. Platinum cuffs adorned her wrists and mini-chandeliers hung from her ears, light bouncing from them as they swayed. Her hair, which was silver with a faint lavender hue, was pulled back into an intricate up-do. She wasn't very tall. Finnick knew he would be taller than her; but she radiated this power about her, and he also knew, deep in his gut, this woman could bring anyone to their knees. He forced himself to look at her face, and saw her features were haughty. She had a straight, pert nose, with thick arched eyebrows, high cheekbones, and a full mouth with the corners pinched. He brought his gaze to her almond-shaped eyes. He eyes were also silver. While they were unnerving, there was something there he hadn't seen from someone like her. Deep in those silvery depths were kindness. She looked back at him with what could be called pity, and although nothing else about her spoke of a merciful nature, they did, and he felt reassured.

However, she blinked and turned away from him, the kindness from her eyes gone, replaced with something else. Something slightly manic and wholly mischievous.

"Good afternoon, President Snow. I was ecstatic to hear your reply about my offer." She had a low, slightly raspy quality to her voice. Some might call it masculine. Others would call it seductive.

"And I, my dear madame, was pleased to hear your offer."

"Oh I bet. Many would claim it outrageous, but those are the ones who cannot afford it." She chuckled, and Snow smiled.

"So, have you explained the situation to Mr. Odair here?" Her eyes slid back to him, them full of a hunger Finnick had yet to fully comprehend.

"Not quite."

"Oh?" She raised a brow.

"You are far more eloquent than I, Madame de Lune. It will sound far sweeter coming from you, don't you think?"

Finnick watched the exchange between the two of them, sweat running down his back. He was sure nothing about his upcoming arrangement would be sweet, and while he had saw something in this Madame de Lune that had calmed him, it was gone now and he never in his life felt like running more. In the area he was about to fight his way out. This was not something he had control over. Then again, he never really had control over anything, did he.

"You're absolutely right, President Snow. Mr. Odair, Finnick..." she paused, tasting his name on her tongue, "President Snow and I have made arrangements for you to come live with me for the time being. I can assure you that you will not want for anything as long as you are the perfect houseguest." She purred the last couple of words, sending shivers down his spine. He wasn't sure if they were good or bad.

She continued to stare at him, tilting her head ever so slightly, gauging his reaction. His stomach rolled and his palm were sweaty. He didn't know what to say; wasn't sure there  _was_ anything to say, so he simply nodded. His fate was already sealed, there was no point in fighting it. The only thing that kept him going was that brief spark of warmth in her eyes. He clung to the hope that she was kind tighter than anything he had in his life. _  
_

"Excellent. We have much to do before you are settled in. Let's get going, darling...that is unless, President Snow has any objections...?"

"Only the matter of payment, Madame de Lune."

"You will find that has already been taken care of, President." She smiled.

"Then by all means." He gestured to the door.

Madame de Lune held out a bent elbow to Finnick. It was an old fashioned gesture, but he recognized it nonetheless, and he stood up, shuffling to her. He slid his arm in the crook, and she place a warm hand over his bicep.

"Good day, Mr. President." She slightly nudged Finnick, and her repeated her words in a murmur.

"Good day, Madame, Mr. Odair."

She guided them towards the exit, dread filling him with every step. She smelled nice, this Madame de Lune. Everyone he knew smelled like the ocean but she smelled of something sweet. A flower maybe? And god was she warm. Heat radiated off of her. Must be her dress.

She lead him through a maze of corridors, until they reached the front entrance. The enormous doors opened, sunlight nearly blinding him. They strode out into the courtyard, the massive gates opening as they approached. Still they walked, never missing a beat, even when the gates slammed shut behind them, firmly shutting them out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finnick is given a choice. He will walk along this path, no matter what, but will he choose to be a mere puppet strung along or how to navigate this seedy path he's been set on?

Her house was  _huge_. Oh, it was nowhere near the size of the President's mansion, but it was by far the largest home he had seen that was a private citizens'. The facade of the house had been very modern and expensive-looking, with it's chrome and clean lines. The front parlors were much the same, it obvious these rooms were for pure show. The further they went into the house, the more cozy it became. The rooms were painted in warmer, cheerful tones than the bright austere white of the outside and front rooms. It was clear these areas were more private.

Madame de Lune led him into what seemed to be the heart of the house. It was a kitchen, and it was like nothing he had seen before. The walls and floor were smooth slabs of stone, and there was  _wooden_ furniture all around the room. His eyes widened. Finnick had never seen so much wooden furniture nor any in this kind of condition. From the cupboards, to the chairs, to the table, it all shine as if brand new, and there were chips nor dents nor scratches on any of the surfaces. There was wood in district 4 sure, the boats and some houses were made out of it, but that was weatherbeaten. This was something else entirely.

There was also a cooker, sink, and refrigerator, all shiny and new.

"Sit, please." She gestured to a high backed chair, reddish in color.

He did as she asked, swallowing the lump in his throat down hard.

She hadn't said a word to him since they left President Snow's office. She merely adopted this supremely smug look on her face as they walked through the Capitol back to her home. Many people gaped and stared, whispering loudly as they strode past. Every once in a while someone would call out to them, but she still was silent, only smirking. He took his cues from her, not a word spoken, only smiling. But on the inside chaos reigned. He now knew what President Snow had been demanding of him back in his office; the leers he received from the masses made that quite clear. He even got them from Madame de Lune, but he couldn't shake the feeling hers were different. Perhaps he was foolishly hoping that hint of kindness in her eyes were not a figment of his imagination, that she didn't want from him what everyone else did.

"Are you hungry?" Madame de Lune's silvery gaze was latched on to him, analyzing his every move. She had dropped the smirk and the smugness; that seemed to fall right off of her the moment her front doors closed behind them.

"No," he croaked out, shaking his head.

"Is that no because you've already eaten and had your fill, or is that no because you can't bring yourself to eat anymore?"

He held her gaze for a moment longer, she completely unreadable, then looked down at the table.

"I can't bring myself to eat anymore." Only Mags had guessed the truth. Well, Mags and Madame de Lune. Sure, he ate at the parties and ceremonies to keep up appearances, but he couldn't keep any of that down, and when he was alone he didn't touch a morsel.

"That's to be expected. Unfortunately for you, you won the Hunger Games. The others don't have to live with what happened. But you must carry on, Finnick." He snapped his gaze back to her. Her words were casual, as if she were commenting on the weather. However, the intensity of her eyes conflicted with her detached tone.

She turned away from him then, walking over to the refrigerator. Opening it, she took out a few things, then went over to the stove. She turned it on, buttered a couple pieces of bread, put them on the heated surface, then slapped slices of cheese on them. Soon the air was filled with the aroma of frying bread and melting cheese. The smell permeated through the room, and if it had been a month ago he would have been salivating, now it just made him morose. Was he ever going to be able to enjoy anything ever again? Not that he deserved it after everything he had done in the arena.

Soon she set a plate down in front of him. The grilled cheese sandwich was cut into triangles and had cheese oozing from the sides. It was toasted to perfection, not mushy and not even the slightest bit burnt. 

He just stared at it.

"I apologize its not something from your district. I'm not much of a cook; grilled cheese sandwiches are all I can manage." She sat in the chair opposite him, leaning her elbows on the table's surface and linking her hands together.

"This is lovely, thank you." He tried to put some charm behind his words, trying to be that 'perfect houseguest' she wanted so that maybe, just maybe she'd treat him well.

"My grandfather used to make the best fried fish. Alas, I never did learn to make it like him. Always too busy or whatever excuse I came up with."

He felt a pang of homesickness. He missed fried fish. It was cheap and easy to make, therefore too unrefined for Capitol citizens' palette. And as far as he knew, his district was the only place where to find fried seafood. How her grandfather came to learn to make it, he was at a loss.

"But you are not here to bear witness to my nostalgia. You are here for something infinitely more perverse and treacherous. Again, you have my apologies." She frowned, and a most troubled look came across her face.

Any appetite he might of thought he had, completely disappeared at her words. 'Something infinitely more perverse and treacherous.' Fresh nausea erupted in his gut, and internally he frantically prayed even though he knew whatever higher power there was, clearly had abandoned him.

"God, you are so young." She whispered the words. They were full of sorrow and regret. Her eyes reflected the tone of her voice, they shone with unshed tears. He wasn't sure what to make of this change in her, this change of emphasis on this ongoing, dreadful conversation. Before he could think anymore about it, she blinked away the moisture gathering in her eyes and straightened her spine, as if steeling herself against something.

"Despite your youth, I will speak very plainly to you now, so there will no misunderstandings. At the very least, you deserve to know  _exactly_ what it is you'll be getting into. While it is easier to be brave when you don't know what you face, it makes it easier for you to break that way. Finnick, do you understand what it is President Snow gave you to me for? What he forced you into?"

He jerked his head into a nod, blinking back his own tears.

"I want you to say it, so there is no misunderstanding. Say it, Finnick." Her voice was gentle but insistent. They would not proceed with anything until he voiced it out loud. He didn't want to. Saying it out loud would make it real. But he knew regardless of whether he did or not, it was very real.

"I'm supposed to-" he choked, couldn't quite bring himself to say it without breaking. During those horrific nights in the arena, lying awake at night, he never thought he'd find himself in a worse situation. Oh, how he was wrong. He knew what he had to do to survive there, knew that he could eventually come to live with himself after. Now, he had no clue how, and that terrified him down to the core of his being.

"Finnick." Madame de Lune urged him, and somehow pulling him out of his consuming despair.

"I'm supposed to have sex with you." He barely uttered the words, tears falling freely down his face now.

"There's a word for this. Do you know it?"

He shook his head at her question.

"Prostitution. Its called prostitution. Its where you trade sex for something else, mostly money. Although I seriously doubt you'll be receiving any money."

She paused then, her brows furrowed. She was clearly searching for the right words to say next.

"Finnick... _I_ will not force you to do anything you don't want to do. The same cannot be said for anyone else in the Capitol. Before I tell you the offer I'm about to make, there's something you need to understand. President Snow was forcing you down this path far before I caught wind of it. You very nearly wound up in the hands of man who is known for his cruelty in the bedroom. I will not call you lucky, never lucky, not with everything you've had to endure and will endure. But I am certainly the lesser of two evils, because there is one thing I can give you that they never will: a choice."

He had been following what she said. From what he gathered she wasn't going to force her touch on him nor force him to touch her, which was a huge relief, especially when she revealed what or whom could have been his fate. But when she told him he a choice in all of this, he was thrown into confusion. What could that possibly mean? Despite his befuddlement, a spark of hope flickered in his chest. A choice, a minute bit of control, more than he probably ever had in his life. The thought was more than tempting.

"How I see it, and I think you'd find that I'm right, you really only have two options: you can stay with me and simply enjoy my hospitality for an appropriate amount of time, doing nothing but sleeping and eating and maybe recovering then go on your way, because make no mistake, you  _will_ have to leave here, there's nothing I can do about that, the people would demand my head if I kept you, and that's when your true nightmare will begin. Or you can stay and I can train you. I can teach you how to survive this place, possibly thrive if you have the stomach for it, and how to keep yourself, for the most part, intact. And if you have the nerve, I can teach you more than just how stay whole as the Capitol's favorite whore. I can help you become the Capitol's greatest weakness, be their very downfall."

Her voice was low, but her words were heavy and they weighed on him. She was absolutely right when she said his path ahead lead to prostitution with no way around it.

"Finnick, I've seen something in you that makes me think you can be far more than some pretty doll to be passed around. The way you charmed and manipulated the Capitol before the games is proof of that. I do not wish to see you waste away, not when you can do something that no one else can."

Her words were cryptic. She was clearly talking about more than learning how cope with being a prostitute, but what she was getting at, he wasn't sure. The things she said, about him being the Capitol's greatest weakness and their downfall, gave hint to that. But did she just mean she'd make him irresistible or did she mean something far more incendiary?

"Its up to you, Finnick. What will it be?"

It was useless to say neither, that he just wanted to go home and have part in anything. It would be more than useless, it'd be pathetic.

Neither option was particularly attractive, but he sure as hell didn't want to become some puppet to be pawed at and dragged to and fro. So, he picked the one that he knew one day would take him back home in one piece more or less, that would take him back to Annie.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached out to take the grilled cheese. Madame de Lune was right about another thing. He must carry on.

"I want to survive."


End file.
